Youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness. – F. Scott Fitzgerald
Here’s the “Training Diary #1” entry for July 1, 1972.
Saturday 1 p.m. Ran 6 miles at about an 8-min. pace. Went to Bethel (site of next Tuesday’s race) to run the course. Found it okay but typical me ended up running last half first and first half second. It should be fun. Terrible (4/10th mile) hill at 2-mile mark but worst part will be coming down a half mile and even steeper. So steep I don’t see how I can run down it without falling on my face. And if I try to slow up, it feels as if my knees are slamming into my hips. After that hill, the last 3 miles are relatively easy.
At the moment, I think I’ll just attack the course in its entirety to the best of my ability & hope for the best. I’ll finish it if I have to crawl on my elbows. Since it’s impossible to actually win the race, this looks like a good chance to see what I’m made of.
Here’s the “Training Diary #1” entry for July 4.
Independence Day. Bethel, CT, Six-Miler. Cool… pleasant. Race began at 9 a.m. About 70 runners, don’t really know. [note added later] 88 runners started (according to local paper.) Got a very bad start. (I think this is something I’d better work on. In a steady-paced race, all runners at same speed, at my speed, can be beat if I can get the jump on them; if we run the race at the same pace, I should emerge first. (In my “group” at least.)
At about 2 miles (up the BIGG hill) I caught sight of the young girl (17) who looked to be moving fairly well. I set my mind to eventually catching her, at worse, maintaining the gap between us. I kept after her and finally passed her with 2/10ths of a mile to go. So, unlike Greenwich [my first race] I finished ahead of all distaff runners.
The moral of the story is I became so involved (evidently) with beating this girl, I ran faster than I ever have before. According to my official time of 38:29 for the 5.8 miles, I averaged 6:36 mins. per mile. This seems so fast I have my doubts, but if I can do it again [note added.] I did. See 8/26. I guess it’s correct – I was shooting for a 7-minute average. Perhaps I underestimated myself.
I finished 42nd & received a little circular gold medal with a runner on it, of course, for my efforts. That’s my fourth “trophy” in my life. And it’s love.
The race’s doctor drove along the course in a big green Imperial with his straw hat & his yellow slacks seemingly disappointed not to discover every mile or so a runner having a cardiovascular seizure or perhaps a collapsed lung. Like the Angel of Death, he hovered about the crests of hills and actually appeared to have an orgasmic climax when he finally did manage to coax one limping straggler into his car. The doctor had much the same look as the witch when Hansel & Gretel crossed her doorstep. It was a big car.
The doctor seemed especially concerned with my appearance toward the end of the race. I’m sure that’s just my paranoia.
I made grotesque faces at him and continued on my journey.